an imaginary exercise for all men (and some women too)
I am a man after all.
I would like all the men reading this to indulge me in a little imaginary exercise. Imagine you live in a world where, because of the biological role your gender bestowed on you, you were physically unable to challenge women and you spent most of your adult life growing little people in your body or caring for the little people your body produced. As such, you were somewhat marginalised from the ‘important’ functions of society. While you were seeing to the continuation of the species, the women were out and about, collecting food, building shelters, and also finding time to think and chat, and set up little groups of power and influence.
Then, let’s imagine, some one hundred years ago, some of your kind fought for your right to be included in the decision making, to a limited degree. That’s nice. But your big break comes when a way to control when and if you start growing the little people is discovered. Not only that, but technology makes it possible for the things that had kept you busy looking after the little people to only take up a fraction of the time and effort it previously did. Hurrah, you’re there! You can now fully participate in society and still have some little people if you feel like it. There are even laws that tell the women they have to treat you equally!
Except that, everywhere you look, the women are still in power. Pretty much every head of state is still female – you look at the G20 summit pictures and squint to pick out the one representative of your gender. All the popular gods, all the heads of religion and indeed most of the thought-controlling religious instructors are women. All the power, all of the influence is still in women’s hands. That’s fine though, because generally they treat you real nice. In fact, most women like men so much, they like nothing better than admiring hot male bodies with luscious six packs. When you turn on the TV or look at the rows of magazines, there’s lots for women to enjoy. It’s kind of flattering really because the male form exists to be appreciated – kind of like art. You look at your son and think, he’ll make a really nice husband for a successful woman one day.
You don’t feel irritated in the slightest – I mean, why would you? There are some of your fellow men who are grumbling away somewhere in the background, but they’re just uptight women-haters, frigid or gay, or just plain ugly.